


bad moon rising

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Halloween, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Hurt/Comfort, Protective Jack Dalton (MacGyver 2016), Whump, near exsanguination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-29 11:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21139160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: A sanguineous halloween story.





	bad moon rising

**Author's Note:**

> I had a very vague idea for this story last year, started writing, didn't finish. Told myself it was too self-indulgent and put it aside. I came back to it a few weeks ago, and I have mostly overcome that feeling. Hope you enjoy it, and Happy Halloween!
> 
> Takes place in and around the events of 2x05 Skull + Electromagnet, but not really related to that episode at all.

"Hey, Mac," Jack calls out as he enters the house on Saturday morning. It's quiet. "You up yet? I brought bagels." He shakes the bag out in front of him like he's calling for a cat to come and get fed.

"In here."

"Is it safe to come in?" Jack asks, following the voice to the living room. "You don't have a girl in here, do ya? There wasn't a sock on the doorknob so I decided to risk it."

Mac lays on the floor under his bike, elbows deep in the engine. He gives a noncommittal grunt but otherwise ignores the comments.

A quick glance around the room, Jack is surprised by the mess. Not that Mac is particularly tidy, but there's a method to his madness and an organization to his chaos, and a few years in the military keeps him from being too messy.

He picks his way through the living room around torn apart appliances, electronic components separated and stack in haphazard piles around. Wires and filaments grouped together, if there's any kind of organization to the chaos Jack can't figure it out. He shifts what he thinks might be the remains of a toaster to clear a space to park himself on the couch.

Jack rubs a hand over bristly hair. His quick examination of these projects reveals that Mac hasn't begun reassembly on anything. He sighs. To Jack, these unfinished projects speak of Mac's mental state.

Mac does his best thinking when his hands are busy. It's not uncommon for him to take apart an appliance while he's thinking. Multiple appliances even, much to Bozer's dismay. But usually, he has projects in various states of completion. It appears that Mac has taken apart everything in the house, and not even begun to put anything back together again.

When Mac putters without purpose like this, his thoughts are far away. Jack's seen it before. 

After being discharged from the Army. After Cairo. After Lake Como. Moments when Mac's had his confidence shaken.

These last few weeks have been tough for their team.

Dealing with the fallout of the Phoenix infiltration and Bozer's life-threatening injury. The unsuccessful search for Big Mac. Jack getting himself benched after compromising the mission because of his worry for Riley. And most recently, Murdoc's return.

Any of these situations alone, Mac would have taken in stride. But they stacked up, one on top of the other with no reprieve.

Jack lightly kicks the bottom of Mac's shoe to get his attention.

"You gonna make me ask outright? How was your date?" Jack had been hopeful that this date would be a distraction for his partner. It's easy to see now that this was wishful thinking and Mac is wound even tighter than before.

Mac lifts his head so he can see Jack through the disassembled bike. "Well, I don't think I'm going to be seeing her again."

Jack makes a sympathetic noise. "She found out you're a nerd, huh? It was bound to happen, dude. Can’t keep that hidden forever."

Mac flashes Jack an unamused look as he pulls himself out from under the bike. Sitting up and wiping his greased stained hands on a rag, he replies. "I was not the weird one on that date."

Jack squints at Mac, cocking his head to get a better look then, sliding off the couch, he moves to squat next to Mac. He takes Mac's chin in his hand and turns his head gently, exposing Mac's neck and pulling the collar of his t-shirt back.

"Did she bite you?" Jack asks incredulously. His hand reaches out tentatively to brush against the large dark scab at the base of Mac's neck, just above his collar bone. Slightly below that is the impression of an underbite, bruised and swollen. Deep bruising spreads out around the injury.

"What kind of kinky stuff were you up to last night, man?"

Mac pulls back from Jack's touch, annoyance written on his face. "We had dinner. We were walking along the beach. It was going well."

"Whatever you're into."

Mac ignores him and continues. "I was going to take her to that gelato place."

"Guess she wanted something else for dessert."

Mac shoots him another look for that remark. "Do you want to hear this story?"

Jack closes his mouth, mimes zipping it closed and gestures for Mac to continue.

"I don't know, we're talking. Then all of a sudden she just bites me. Hard. I had to pry her off."

Jack can't help the shocked laughter that explodes from him

"I'm glad you find this so amusing," Mac glares at his partner.

Jack sobers quickly. "I don't, dude. I'm sorry. It just took me by surprise. Are you okay?" He asks, concerned. Reaching out for Mac again to take another look. "She really took a chunk out of you. Did you have someone look at this?"

Mac pushes away from Jack. Standing he heads to the kitchen. "I cleaned it out last night."

"I meant like a professional, who knows what they're doing," Jack calls after him.

Washing the rest of the grease off his hands, Mac turns and looks over his shoulder at Jack. 

"Well, I'm not going into medical for this. How would I even explain it?"

Jack follows Mac into the kitchen, pulling out one of the bagels he brought and handing it to Mac.

Absently, Mac takes it, frowning exasperatedly at the remains of the coffee pot on the counter. He'd taken it apart this morning. Setting aside the bagel, he picks up pieces to begin reassembly.

"What if you need stitches or something? Or antibiotics, aren't human bites supposed to be all germy?" Asks Jack, taking a bite from his own bagel.

Mac gestures to his neck. "It's too late to stitch this anyway. And I'll keep an eye on it for any infection."

"Alright fine, but if you turn out to be patient zero for the start of the zombie apocalypse I'm going to be pretty ticked at you."

"The way she attacked her ziti last night I doubt she was a zombie or a vampire. So I think we're safe."

"Oh, I didn't even think about vampires," Jack says with a look of concern. "You are looking a little pale. What if she was trying to drain you? Or turn you?"

"I just said we had Italian last night, Jack. That place with the garlic bread you like. She had at least three pieces. She's not a vampire."

"So, what, she just goes around biting dudes?"

Mac shrugs and cringes when the movement pulls at the scab.

"Well, what did she say when you pulled her off your neck?"

"She apologized for freaking me out," the inflection in Mac's tone indicates he's repeating her words. "I don't know, something about getting too excited."

Jack's face shows his discomfort. "I was joking around before but she really gets off on biting?"

Mac throws his hands in the air. "I didn't stick around to delve into it. I sent her home in an uber and tried my best to forget about it." Frustration colors his tone, he sets the carafe down harder than intended. His fingers come up and ghost across the scab and bruising.

"Hey, don't pick at it."

"Is it-- is it really noticeable?" His fingers continue tracing the outline.

"Nah, man," Jack reassures. "I'm just supposed to notice if something's wrong with you. It's my job."

"Yeah and everyone else at the Phoenix is equally observant, so it's not gonna stay hidden long."

"But you've got the weekend for it to heal up. Plus with those collared shirts you normally wear, that'll cover it up."

Mac looks less than reassured.

"If anyone asks just say Bozer designed a new prosthetic that you're testing or it's part of your Halloween costume, or none of their damn business. Eat your breakfast," Jack says, starting to pick up the bagel that Mac previously set aside then stops. He reaches into the bag and instead hands Mac an everything bagel.

Mac frowns.

"Do you feel like your skin is burning off?" Jack asks, eyeing him warily.

"No..." Mac says slowly with an eyebrow raised.

"Good, you passed the garlic test."

"Give me back my bagel now," Mac says, reaching around Jack. "How long is this going to be a thing?"

"I can't make any guarantees one way or the other," Jack says with a shrug. "I'll have to do some research, devise some tests. Could go on all the way through Halloween."

Both their phones buzzed.

"So much for a weekend off," Jack says reading the text from Matty. Jack packs up Mac's bagel, which he can eat when they reach the Phoenix, not in his car, and heads toward the door, stopping when Mac continues down the hall. "Where are you going?"

Mac gestures to his neck again and then down the hall to his bedroom. "Gotta change my shirt."

"Yeah, well hurry up, don't keep the boss lady waiting," Jack calls over his shoulder, heading outside and leaning against the GTO to wait for his partner.

Mac is out the door minutes later, stopping to lock up the house. A crisp breeze skirts across the back of Mac's neck, and sends a shiver down his spine. Mac mentally shakes his head to clear his thoughts. The last few months have left him jumpy.

"You need an invitation to cross the threshold?" Jack asks as Mac approaches the car.

"I don't think the threshold rule counts with a car," Mac replies, settling into the passenger seat. Mac turns to watch out the window, and Johnny Cash twangs from the radio.

"You okay?" Jack asks after a bit. Jack continues while Mac offers protest. "I just mean that it's been, well I was gonna say a bad week, but that doesn't cut it."

"It's been… a lot, recently," Mac reluctantly agrees, turning back to look out the window.

"And the hits just keep coming."

Mac huffs out a breath.

"Maybe we should take a vacation," Jack suggests. "Oh, maybe Vegas?"

"Because we get so much time off," Mac grumbles.

"We'd just have to get Matty to agree not to contact us for like a whole weekend, unless it's an emergency."

"It's always an emergency."

"Nah, I'm talking a real emergency, like Matty can't contact us unless there's a zombie apocalypse," Jack says, taking his eyes off the road to look at his partner. "Do you think I could train you? Like if you go zombie. Because I don't think I could take you out, even if I needed to." 

Jack's voice suddenly serious.

"Jack, it's not going to happen," Mac says rolling his eyes.

"What would zombie Mac be like though? Instead of moaning for brains, you just hear mumbled mathematical theories getting closer and closer," Jack shudders. "Now that would be scary."

Mac groans. "This is going to get so old."

* * *

They are still arguing as they enter the war room.

"I can't debate your arguments if you keep changing topics," Mac's tone just starting to sound irritated.

"I'm not changing topics. I'm trying to be ready for either situation."

"Yeah, but neither situation has any chance of actually happening," Mac mutters. "It was still daylight when I picked her up. Shouldn't she have burst into flames in the sun?"

Jack shrugs. "Vampire lore is shady. They've been trying to cover up their existence for centuries, probably leaking fake information about their weaknesses and abilities. Maybe I should start carrying a wooden stake," Jack muses, miming the action of pulling a stake from his coat like a quick draw and driving it into a vampire's chest. Then adjusting his stance and repeating the motion as if learning a new sparring move.

Mac laughs, and shoves Jack further into the room.

"Hey! Dalton, baby Einstein. Think you could join the rest of the team so I can brief you on your mission?" Matty's sharp tone breaks through their roughhousing.

Both men apologize to their boss who stands near the front of the room. Mac joins Riley sitting on the couch while Jack hovers behind them, ever on alert. Cage and Bozer occupy the chairs.

"Sorry to call you all in on a Saturday, but as I said, we have a mission."

"Where are we heading?" Jack asks.

"Transylvania," Matty replies seriously.

Jack pales as his eyes go wide.

"I'm kidding. It's too easy, Dalton. We all heard you guys arguing over how to fight mythical creatures with wooden stakes when you walked in."

"I thought Mac banned you from watching monster movies around this time of year?" Riley cranes her neck to look behind her and smirk at Jack.

"Oh, ha ha, yeah, let's pick on Jack. I'll just shut up until one of us gets bitten by a vampire. Then let's see who you call for help. All those movies are gonna come in real handy."

"Jack," Mac says in a warning tone, trying to stop the inevitable. Knowing that he's about to become the center of very unwanted attention.

"Oh wait, Vampira actually tried to maul my boy last night," Jack says gesturing emphatically towards Mac.

There's a chorus of confused exclamations from the other agents in the room. Mac throws his hands in the air.

"Come on, man," Mac says, annoyed by the sudden attention of all eyes on him. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

"Just a crazy vampire chick trying to feast," Jack says.

Riley leans across the couch, reaching for the collar of Mac's shirt. Reluctantly, Mac lets her, shooting daggers at Jack.

"Oh man, Mac! Jack was right. Not about vampires, but something really bit you. That looks terrible."

"Is this from the girl you went out with last night?" Bozer asks, coming around the couch to see for himself.

"Your date bit you?" Riley's mouth twitches. "I guess that's what you get for showing up looking like a snack."

Bozer chokes back a laugh when Mac's steely gaze suddenly falls on him, but that doesn't stop him from extending a fist bump to Riley.

"That is more than I ever wanted to know about what Mac gets up to in his private life," Cage says lazily from her chair, her face a mask of indifference but a sparkle of intrigue in her eyes.

A blush creeps up Mac's neck and face. He leans back against the couch, one arm crossed against his chest, the other rubbing at his forehead.

"She took an actual bite out of you," Riley says, looking back at Mac's neck again.

"That's more than a love nip," Bozer says, shaking his head in disbelief, then seeing Mac's embarrassment continues. "I mean, it's not my thing, but between two consenting adults..."

"It wasn't-- I'm not-- she didn't--" Mac stutters through protests, mentally cursing Jack for bringing this up and simultaneously wishing the couch would just swallow him whole. Where's Freddy Kruger when you need him?

"It wasn't fun and sexy times, my boy was a victim here," Jack defends Mac, clapping his hands on Mac's shoulders in support.

"I didn't think this moment could get any worse," Mac mumbles to himself.

"Mac, are you alright?" Matty finally interrupts the conversation.

"I'm fine, Matty."

"Then as fascinating as this is, I did call you in for a mission," Matty says, attempting to regain control of the room like a teacher with unruly school children. "Fortunately, it doesn't involve Transylvania, vampires or any kind of biting."

The team quiets down and resumes their seats as Matty continues with her briefing.

"The Chinese embassy here in town is hosting an event this evening. A few weeks ago we were in the process of obtaining information from a unique source, unfortunately, that operation was interrupted before it could be completed," Matty's gaze fixes on Jack. "Now we need to secure the rest of that information."

"That information was important a week ago, but it's invaluable now," Cage explains.

"Doesn't seem like we need to get the whole band back together for a simple retrieval," Jack comments.

"Is it ever just a simple retrieval, Dalton?" Matty asks, pinning him with her eyes. "Do you think I'd call you in if that was all I had in mind?"

"No, ma'am," Jack cringes.

Matty addresses the whole room again. "Cage will make her way to the ambassador's study to finish her interrogation. Her objective is primary. This is information we should have had in our hands weeks ago." Her gaze flits back to Jack.

Mac glances over his shoulder at his partner, feeling the tension in the room. Pieces click into place and a dawning realization that the extra step in this retrieval is necessary because of them. Because Jack lost his objectivity while Riley was undercover and Cage was pulled to be Mac's back up.

"The stakes are higher this time. The information has an expiration date now. And we want to keep our source viable as long as possible. That's where the rest of you come in. Mac, you'll get Riley into the server room, Jack will be your backup. Riley, I don't care if you have to strong arm your way into their system, I want every single piece of information you can get your hands on."

Riley nods, digesting the information.

Bozer glances around the room as his teammates received their orders, waiting, anxiously for his assigned role, and secretly hoping it's not watching them on a monitor in the war room.

"Bozer," Matty says. Her tone is soft, but there's an underlying note of teasing sarcasm. "Are you worried I forgot about you?"

"Yes ma'am, I mean, no ma'am."

"Your primary objective is infiltration and observation. Hiding in plain sight, relaying messages to your team. It's a good mission to practice blending in, getting used to reading a room, identifying the players."

"Yes, ma'am."

"If this goes well, we'll talk about further training for fieldwork," Matty says, before dismissing the team.

"Mac," Matty calls before he makes it to the door. "Stop by medical first and make sure you aren't going to experience any after-effects from your… injury."

* * *

The doors to medical swing open, and Mac strides through, Jack following quickly behind.

"You can't keep your big mouth shut," Mac's tone is annoyed.

"Oh come on, hoss, I told you that it probably needed to be looked at."

"It's not that. I told you I didn't want to have to try to explain this to everyone," Mac grouses. "And you last all of thirty seconds before you're blabbing half the story to everyone."

"Well, I'm in the doghouse enough already. I had to explain to Matty that this wasn't just me watching too many movies."

Mac sighs.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to become some big thing." Jack's voice drops low. "But I think Cage might have been a little intrigued."

"What?" Mac sputters.

"She totally had this idea that you were all bland vanilla boy scout, but now, I mean she played it all cool and collected back there, but I think she might be a little into the rough stuff," Jack waggles his eyebrows at his partner, shimmying his shoulders.

"No," Mac says firmly. "This is not a conversation we're going to have. Ever again."

"I'm just saying--"

"I don't want you just saying," Mac interrupts.

Reese, former Navy medic and current Phoenix nurse comes around the corner, pretending she didn't just hear the conversation the two agents were having when they entered, but a smile played around her lips. 

"Hey Reese, you got a minute?" Jack asks, grinning.

"For you guys, I've got two. What's up?"

"My boy had a little... incident," Jack starts to explain.

Mac interrupts, exasperated. "Someone bit me yesterday, and I've been encouraged to have it looked at."

"Sure, come on back," Reese says, not the least bit phased by the story or injury, directing Mac into an exam room.

Jack follows the pair. "Place is a ghost town."

"No active missions in town. Everyone else took the weekend on call." Reese nods at the exam table, indicating that Mac should take a seat.

"How'd you get stuck working then?" Jack asks leaning against the counter, arms crossed.

"Are you kidding? The opportunity to organize the supply room without interruptions is a dream come true."

"We don't need to interrupt," Mac says quickly, looking like he's about to head for the door.

"I needed a break anyway," she gives him a pointed look.

Mac hops up on the table with a sigh. "It's not really that big a deal."

"Sure, but isn't it easier to just humor Jack than fight with him?" Reese asks with a smile. She flips on the overhead exam light and pulls on some gloves.

Mac undoes the top few buttons of his shirt and pulls it aside.

"Oh," Reese says in surprise, gently palpating the area. "Mac, it's probably a good thing you're getting this looked at. This is deep. Did it take a while to stop bleeding?"

"Yeah, I guess," Mac reluctantly admits, feeling Jack's penetrating gaze on him.

Reese frowns, staring intently at the wound. "It's too late for any stitches, but the scab does look like it's holding. I'm going to cover it so your collar doesn't rub and irritated the area more. I'm concerned about the bleeding risk if it opens up again."

She reaches over for the tympanic thermometer, gently turning Mac's head to place it in his ear.

"You probably should have had someone look at it last night. Human bites are bad news."

"I told you, Mac," Jack says frowning at his partner.

Mac rolls his eyes.

The thermometer beeps. "Ninety-nine point four," Reese reads.

"Fever?" Jack asks with concern.

Reese shrugs, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around Mac's upper arm. "Not yet, something to watch. But Mac does tend to run a little hot."

"It's that big brain of his working too hard and overheating everything."

Reese releases the cuff from Mac's bicep. "Pressure's normal. Mac, I'd like to get a little blood, make sure your white count's not elevated, and that your friend didn't leave behind a present for you." She turns addressing Jack now. "Not vampires or werewolves."

Jack groans. "Werewolves, Mac. I'm slipping. I didn't even think about werewolves."

Mac gives Reese an exasperated look as he rolls up his sleeve. "You had to get him started up again?"

Reese gives a laugh as she gathers her supplies. "You know I was surprised I hadn't heard any mention of it."

"Because he finally had to admit, there was no way she could be a vampire or zombie."

"And those were compelling arguments, but we didn't even touch on all the reasons she could have been a werewolf."

Reese ties a tourniquet above Mac's elbow, before cleansing the skin and deftly drawing Mac's blood. "Come on, Jack. Places we've been, things we've seen? We'd have come across vampires or werewolves by now if they existed."

"They've had centuries of practice covering their tracks."

"And, Halloween's next week. There's always an uptick in weird activity, they could use this as an opportunity to hunt without being noticed," Reese agrees.

"If you keep it up, neither of you are invited to Bozer's haunted house this year," Mac interjects.

"Oh, sorry, Jack, you're on your own. I'm not risking getting uninvited," Reese says quickly. "Hold pressure on there," she instructs, placing Mac’s fingers over the gauze. 

"You're giving in too easy, Reese. That behavior is exactly how they've all managed to hide their presence all these years."

She shrugs. "But my costume is on point this year."

"Sell out," Jack mutters.

Reese pulls off her gloves. "I'm going to run this to the lab, page the on-call doc, he's probably going to give you an antibiotic prescription. We'll get a dressing for your neck and I'm pretty sure you're going to need a tetanus booster."

Mac frowned, firmly holding the gauze to the crook of his elbow. "You sure I'm not up to date?"

Reese gave a sympathetic wince. "Sorry, Mac."

"Don't worry, homie. I'll hold your hand." Jack said, patting Mac on the shoulder.

Mac growls at him.

"Whoa there," Jack said, pulling his hand back quickly. "Hey Reese, maybe we need to be safe and get him something for distemper and rabies too."

Reese laughs at their antics as she walks down the hall.

* * *

The sports car carrying Jack and Riley pulls up to the door. Jack jumps out and tosses the keys to the valet. This is his favorite part of a mission, the tux, the sports car, a beautiful woman on his arm, getting ready to infiltrate a party, still makes him want to ask for shaken martinis.

He walks around the front of the car, straightening his tie and offering his arm to Riley. "You look beautiful."

Riley smiles and smooths down his lapels. "You clean up pretty nice too," she says accepting his escort.

It's the perfect October evening, just a hint of a chill in the air. The moon will be full in the next few days. It seems closer than ever before. They trail along with the other guests, up the stairs to the security guarding the front door.

"Did you ever go to prom or anything?" Jack asks as they wait for admittance.

Riley's eyes widen and she gestures to the comm in her ear, not wanting the rest of the team listening in on their conversation.

"Oh, I muted mine," Jack says and continues. "Just when you were little, I kind of imagined you coming down the stairs in a dress like this. And I'd be standing there with your prom date, who I would have thoroughly interrogated and intimidated before you came down. And you'd be all annoyed with me for having tactical knives on the kitchen table. Your mom would take pictures. I'd tell him to have you back ridiculously early, and your mom would say have fun. And I'd remind him of everything we'd talked about as I shook his hand at the doorway."

"Why would you have tactical knives? You were a bathroom tile salesman." Riley asks with a smirk.

"Oh, yeah, I guess that would have to change how I'd threaten him," Jack muses. "I'd have to tell him I'd seal him up behind a bathroom wall or find an interesting use for caulk or something instead."

Riley laughs. She can see the scenario Jack described so perfectly in her head, she almost believed it happened that way.

"No, I never went to prom. Too busy hacking government agencies."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Ri. I shouldn't have left. But I never stopped caring about you."

Riley swallows hard at the sudden wave of emotions. After he nearly blew the mission a few weeks ago due to concern for her safety, they started hanging out together more, just them.

She's surprised by how much she wishes Jack was there while she finished growing up, to intimidate boyfriends, drive her to her first date, grump about curfews. She wonders how different things might have been. But even if she could have saved her teenage self from a few heartbreaks, she's not sure if she would give up what she has now. She can't imagine Jack would willingly let her follow in his footsteps if he hadn't been saving her from prison time.

They pass through security without a hitch. Jack nods surreptitiously as they float by Mac, and clocks Bozer across the room.

He leads Riley through the crowded foyer with a grace and ease that surprises her. The soft music playing almost made the whole experience feel like she was dancing. Snagging two flutes of champagne, he passes one off to her.

"I'm a little surprised we were all called in for this," Riley comments lifting the glass to her lips. "I mean, sending all of us in, that seems a little like overkill."

Jack glances down at her for a moment before his eyes turn back to scan the room. "Since this is a continuation of the mission I screwed up for Cage a couple of weeks ago, I think this might be a little Matty Weber style punishment."

Riley takes another sip, using the motion to cover her glance at Jack. She'd only gotten bits and pieces of the story, what went down behind the scenes while she was undercover, but she knew Jack had gotten himself benched because of her. She can't help but feel this was another mission she'd screwed up on.

"Hey, punishment for me, not for you," Jack says catching her watching him, reading her thoughts.

"You didn't believe that I could complete the mission. I froze on the plane and let the EMP get away. And then I get myself shoved in the trunk of a car. You were right."

"No, Riley, I wasn't," Jack says, his tone low and serious. "You did everything right. I lost my head long before things went sideways. And there is nothing you woulda, coulda, shoulda done different. But you got yourself through it, build a phone out of spare parts in the trunk of a car. I'm proud of you. Both my kids are wicked smart. "

Mac slowly passes them again, his hand brushing against his ear, reminding them of the comms they'd muted.

"You guys ready?"

In a smooth motion, Riley transfers from Jack's arm to Mac's. Deftly slipping between other guests, stopping just short of the curtained off hallway.

A guard exits between the curtains as they arrive.

Mac spins Riley around, pushing her up against the wall, locked in an embrace. Riley slides her arms around Mac's shoulders and pushes her face into the side of Mac's neck.

He stifles a gasp and a flinch.

"Mac, did I hurt you?" She can feel the thick bandage above his collarbone, beneath his dress shirt.

"I'm fine. Guess that whole... experience made me a little jumpy." Mac leans in closer. His lips brushing against the shell of Riley's ear. The guard averts his gaze, embarrassed by the apparently amorous couple, but doesn't appear to have any plans of leaving.

"Jack."

"One distraction coming up."

A moment later the guard listens intently to something over his comms. He spares another quick glance at the couple and strides away.

Mac places a warm hand on Riley's lower back, and they slip through the curtains, entering the dim hallway. The noise of the party muffled by the thick fabric. They work in tandem. Riley overriding security codes, and Mac with old fashioned lock picking. The door to the server room opens, bathing them in a cool blue light.

Riley slides a USB drive into a port as Mac quickly assesses and secures the room.

"Package is secure," Cage informs the team over comms. "Heading for my ex-fil."

"How are we doing, Riles?" Mac asks.

"Another minute here and we'll be set," Riley replies, not looking up from the screen.

Mac cautiously opens the door to check their escape route. "Guys, we've got a problem," Mac says. "There's a guard right outside the server room. We can't get out."

"More trouble," Bozer replies. "Three more guards headed your way."

"I'm on the opposite side of the house, but I can get there in a minute," Jack says with a grunt.

"I don't think they have a minute," Bozer's tone is worried.

"I'm clear, but I can double back," Cage's lilting accent comes through the comms.

"No, Cage, get that intel back to the Phoenix. Finish your mission," Matty orders.

Through the comms the rest of the team hears Mac cycling through plans to rescue himself and Riley, rejecting each one in turn.

A crystal note rings through the house. The chandelier in the ballroom tinkles, quietly at first, but growing in intensity, shaking and rattling.

Flutes of champagne vibrate then shatter. A sound of popping fills the ballroom. Glass after glass exploding.

"Mac, what did you do?" Jack whoops in delight at the sudden chaos, dodging glass that's flying in all directions.

"Wasn't me," Mac says, as he and Riley clear the server room, the hallway suddenly vacant as security scurries to investigate the confused pandemonium.

"Whole house is wired for sound," Riley says, following Mac down the hall and out of the house. "They're spying on their own people. It was an easy switch to broadcast instead of receive."

"But how did that...?" Bozer asks, dodging panicked partygoers.

"Am I the only one who was listening to Mac ramble about resonant frequencies last week?"

Mac beams at her.

"Cut the chatter and get out of there," Matty yells through the comms. "Good job, Riley."

* * *

"Yo, Mac," Jack calls as he enters the house mid-morning the next day. "What smells so good?" He asks as he followed his nose to the kitchen. Mac sits at the counter, a plate of food piled high in front of him while Bozer scurries around the kitchen, stirring pots and flipping pans.

"You got like a twelve course breakfast here," Jack says, snagging a piece of bacon from Mac's plate.

"Hey!" Bozer scolds from the stove. "That is Mac's plate. He needs his protein."

"Did I miss something here?" Jack asks looking between Mac and Bozer.

Mac sighs. "Reese left a message that my blood count shows I'm a little anemic. Nothing to worry about just eat a steak." He raises his voice, directing the last sentence at Bozer. "A steak, Boze, as in one."

"If one steak is good, two is better. You're too skinny Mac." Bozer calls back, pulling a tray from the over. "Eat your eggs."

"I'm with Bozer on that one. A little extra angus for Angus." Jack says, walking over to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup, ignoring Mac's glare "What about your white count."

"Elevated." Bozer tattled.

"Slightly elevated. Yesterday, when they drew the blood," Mac emphasizes as though he's had this discussion a few times already this morning. "But now, I'm already on antibiotics so if it's anything, I'm covered."

Jack frown, as he turns back to look at Mac. He reaches out and brushes a hand against Mac's forehead. "You don't feel too warm," Jack says.

"That's cause you're holding a hot cup of coffee," Bozer says, nudging Jack's hand out of the way and placing his on Mac’s head. "I say he feels warm."

"And I say you're both crazy," Mac says batting their hands away. "I'm fine."

"He's grumpy," Jack whispers.

"Has been all morning," Bozer whispers back.

"Maybe he is coming down with something."

"Something like an infection or something like werewolf?"

"There is nothing I can say right now that will get you to stop, is there?" Mac asks with a glare, looking back and forth between his friends.

Bozer and Jack exchange guilty glances.

"Like I said," Bozer comments sotto voce. "Grumpy"

"Any plans for the rest of today?" Jack asks changing the topic as he sits down at the table across from Mac and takes a sip of his coffee. He accepts the plate of breakfast foods Bozer places in front of him and tucks in eagerly.

"Well, since it's going to take me the rest of the day to finish breakfast, and I probably won't be able to move from the table afterwards, nothing specific."

"After our late night, I'm not going to complain about a lazy Sunday," Jack says, smothering a yawn.

"Halloween's next week, and we haven't even started on our award-winning haunted house yet," Bozer says, joining his friends at the table with his own plate.

Jack glances at Mac. "It's been a rough couple of weeks around here. Maybe we take it easy this year?"

"The MacGyver-Bozer haunted houses are legendary. We can't disappoint the whole neighborhood," Bozer protests.

"I'm with Boze. I could use the distraction."

"Plus, I already thought of a theme. Mac's crazy ex-girlfriend inspired me. His second crazy ex-girlfriend."

"Boze…" Mac's tone warning, worried that it will spark another round of vampire, werewolf or zombie debates that he just doesn't have the energy for right now.

Zombie Wizard of Oz!" Bozer finishes triumphantly. "Mac as the Wizard and be the man inside the coffin, instead of the man behind the curtain, and Riley could be Dorothy Gale, Witch-slayer. Cage the Scarecrow looking for brains, Jack the Cowardly Were-Lion…" Bozer backpedals when he sees Jack's expression. "Or I can be the Cowardly Were-Lion, and Jack can be the ax murdering Tin Man."

Jack pauses, considering the idea. "I do kind of like it."

Mac nod. "Yeah, I do too."

"This is going to top last year's presidential masks for sure!"

"Bozer, do me a favor," Jack says. "Burn that George Washington mask."

"After breakfast I'm going to go search for some giant spiders. Pretty sure I saw an ad about them being on sale."

"I'll call up Riley and Cage," Mac says. "See if they're up yet and want to help out."

"Yeah. See if Cage is up to the Dalton Halloween Decorating Challenge."

* * *

Mac sits in one of the Adirondack chairs on the deck, staring into the darkness just beyond the ring of light the fire pit provides. He can't shake the feeling that there's something out there in the night. Too many spooky movies this week courtesy of Jack, Riley, and Bozer. He won't admit it, especially not to Jack, but chasing Harper Hayes through an abandoned Army base made his imagination run rampant. Her dead, calculating eyes, the way she stalked Jack. Mac racing to finish building an electromagnet and praying the medical files were accurate and it was strong enough to stop her.

He came too close to losing Jack.

The laughter that burbled out of him while watching Jack swear allegiance to the spirit of the Bermuda Triangle, a fountain of relief he couldn’t stop. The sun crested over the ocean and melted away the nightmares hiding in the darkness. 

But now...

The sky is black, and the air chilly. A shiver runs down Mac's spine as his imagination tricks him into seeing movement in the shadows. 

The nearly full moon is reddened, adding an aura of eeriness to the familiar landscape. His brow furrows and he sits up straighter, squinting. Listening.

Something cool and slimy scuttles across the back of his neck.

Mac jumps out of his chair, spinning around.

"Jack! What the hell, man?" He closes his eyes and blows out a slow breath.

"What was that?" Jack asks frowning, holding out the icy beers he'd tapped against Mac's neck to offer one to his partner. "Didn't you hear me coming?"

"Guess I was... thinking..."

"Told you all that thinking would catch up to you one day," Jack says taking a swing from his beer. "All that math and science squirming around in your head, trying to get out. Gonna leak out your ears."

Mac chuckles. "More like all the monster movies you've insisted on watching lately."

"I think we should enact a new rule, no going to creepy islands, haunted houses or abandoned carnivals. Makes everybody too on edge," Jack says with a groan lowering himself into the chair next to Mac, clinking his bottle against Mac's.

Mac smirks. "Are you supposed to be drinking?"

"Haven't had any pain meds since we got back."

"Where's your sling?"

"Right here," Jack pulls the material from his pocket and holds it up.

"I'm sure it's doing a lot of good there."

"Flesh wound," Jack argues. 

Mac leans back in his chair again. His eyes finding their way back to the shadows at the edge of the property.

"What's so interesting out there?" Jack asks, as he follows Mac's gaze. He turns back to Mac. "You see something?"

Mac shakes his head. "No, like I said, just jumpy."

"Could be Murdoc," Jack says standing, drawing his gun, moving to the edge of the deck.

"Jack, we don't even know that Murdoc's still in town."

"Yeah, well, we don't know if Count Cuckoo left either. Just let me check. We'll all sleep a lot better if I do."

Mac watches Jack skulk through the shrubbery. "When the neighbors call the police about a suspicious man hiding in the bushes I'm denying that I know you."

"Your neighbors are well aware that they live next to a weirdo and they've only called the police on you like twice. I think I'm safe."

* * *

Moon beams shine through the opened blinds, casting long shadows through the room. Mac thinks he probably should get up and close them to shut out the light. He makes a feeble attempt to raise his head from the pillow. It falls back on its own accord, bouncing against the soft surface.

The mission left him more exhausted than he expected. He can barely keep his eyes open. At least the moonlight isn't keeping him awake.

He dozes.

A bump.

Then a thump.

Bleary eyes open, scan the room, then shut again.

Probably Bozer, he reasons, working off nervous energy left over from the ghostly Goat Island and the murdering psychopath. Or their most recent run-in with Murdoc. Mac does feel bad for scaring him with the George Washington mask before they left. Or maybe he's working out the blocking for their haunted house. It sounds like he's creeping around in the kitchen and living room.

He's warm, tries to kick off the blankets.

His legs barely move, just a shudder through his muscles. His arm flops against the mattress.

Eyes slide shut again.

When he opens them he can see the position of the moon has changed. He's slept for a few hours.

The room feels like it's stifling. He's floating and heavy. A weird sleep paralysis. He gives up trying to move and tries to slip back into slumber.

He hears a moan, and it takes a moment to register that it escaped his own lips. Soft footsteps against the hardwood floors.

"Boze?" Mac groans. Prying heavy eyelids opened.

A silhouette crosses the room. His vision blurs. Two, four then back to one.

Hands against his neck and he knows he should feel fear. A head coming closer, features he can't identify in the darkness and the haze covering his eyes. A warm mouth against his neck.

He tries to struggle. His muscles resisting commands to move.

The head lift, teeth glow in the dim light, coated with blood.

The bed shimmies and shakes as the pressure on his neck increases. Blood flowing, pouring from his body.

Slowly, despite his struggles, he finds himself drifting toward the beckoning call of sleep.

* * *

Mac gasps awake. Sunlight fills the room, a hand on his shoulder. He swings a weak fist. Slow, unsteady and it's caught quickly.

"Mac?" Bozer's voice concerned. He's been warned before, by Mac, not to wake him from a nightmare. Has gotten his clock cleaned by ignoring those warnings. But calling his name from across the room, even jostling the end of the bed didn't cause Mac to stir so Bozer decided to risk a KO to wake Mac from his disturbed rest. He's surprised at how easily he caught Mac's fist. At how slowly he lashed out.

"Boze," Mac pants heavily. Clearly relieved to recognize the figure next to him. His head pounding in his skull. His hand drops with a dull thud when Bozer releases it.

He tries to push up from the bed, barely raises his head when the room spins dizzily. He collapses back.

"Hey, man," Bozer asks, a mixture of amusement and concern on his face. "What's going on?"

Mac blinks slowly. Dazed. "What time is it?"

"Just after nine," Bozer says. "Thought you were just catching up on some beauty sleep, but you're not looking so good." He studies Mac's pale features. "Are you getting sick?"

"I don't think so," Mac mumbles. "Just so tired. Had... had a nightmare." Mac frowns, something he should remember. Something he should tell Bozer.

"Hey, Mac," Bozer pats his friend's face. "Don't go to sleep yet."

Mac hums.

"I'm going to call Jack."

Yes, call Jack. Jack will know what to do. Jack will make things right. But the words don't form, and again Mac only hums.

Bozer pulls out his phone to make the call, and his concern grows when Mac doesn't protest.

* * *

Jack is halfway to Mac's house when his phone rings. He frowns when he sees it's Bozer, then decides that Mac, probably elbows deep in a project and tired of waiting for Jack to show so he could steal his partner's phone, resorted to sacrificing his own.

With a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice, getting ready to tease the kid, he answers.

His smile fades and concern grows as Bozer stutters and stumbles through his recounting of this morning's activities.

Jack rolls through a stop sign or two, concerned about Bozer's reports of Mac's obvious distress. The tires squeal as he pulls into the driveway. He throws the car in park, rushes up the front walk and runs into the house.

"Mac? Bozer?" He calls out, announcing himself as he heads back to the bedrooms.

Mac is snoring lightly and Bozer paces the length of the room. He exchanges a look with Bozer and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, Mac," Jack gently reaches out and shakes Mac's shoulder.

The scene from earlier repeats, this time with Jack in the co-starring role. Mac startles awake, throwing an arm out, and Jack latches onto, and Mac's bleary eyes clear slightly.

Jack wraps his hand around Mac's wrist, counting his pulse. It's fast.

"What's going on, bud?" Jack asks, brushing Mac's hair back from his forehead. Flinching in surprise at the skin cool under his touch. He'd been expecting to find a fever. Jack claps his hand more firmly against Mac's forehead, gauging his temperature.

Mac shrugs halfheartedly but doesn't answer, eyes closing again.

Jack peels back Mac's eyelids, dodging the clumsy hands that bat at him.

"Stop that," Jack scolds. "Look at me."

Mac glares but that means his eyes are open so Jack takes it as a win. Mac's eyes are dull, pupils narrow, despite the bright light, but they react evenly.

Jack releases Mac's chin, then runs his hands up Mac's arms, along his veins looking for signs he may have been drugged. Jack stands up, moving to the dresser, rummaging for a minute he pulls out a pair of socks. He pulls the blankets off of Mac's feet and dons the socks. Mac's toes wiggle in protest. Then he grabs a sweatshirt, whipping the blankets off.

"Come on, dude," Jack says, enlisting Bozer's help to get Mac sitting at the edge of the bed. He groans when the action jars the bullet wound on his bicep. "Up we go."

He wobbles for a minute, then finds his balance. Bozer's hand on his back helps support him.

Jack pulls the sweatshirt over Mac's head. Mac's attempts to help get him stuck. "Stop struggling, I got it."

"Where're we goin'?" Mac mumbles.

"Medical."

"Oh."

Jack and Bozer exchange worried glances.

"Do you need an ambulance?"

Mac sighs. "No."

Bozer and Jack pull Mac upward. He stands for a moment, then almost crumples. He would have hit the floor if not for his friends.

Mac hanging between them as he lethargically half-walks, is half-dragged out to the car. They settle him into the front seat, his head rests against the window.

This time Jack blows through the stop signs, horn blaring.

Between the car ride and the walk into Medical, Mac is beginning to wake from his stupor as Jack helps him up onto the padded examination table. He stays close, next to Mac while Bozer moves off to the side, giving Reese room to take Mac’s vital signs. 

"Eighty over fifty, no wonder you're dizzy and too exhausted to stand," Reese says. "Temp is ninety-six."

"Mac, we're running a tox screen and some additional labs, but you're incredibly dehydrated and anemic," McClain says, pushing aside Mac’s sweatshirt, and lowering the waistband on his sweatpants, looking for bruising, for an explanation. His hands press against Mac's belly, palpating for rigidity.

"More than before?" Jack asks. "Why?” 

“He's been eating green vegetables and steak as ordered,” Bozer interjects, confirming that Mac’s been following his prescribed diet after the dip in his hematocrit. 

"Did you take a hit anywhere, Mac?" McClain asks. "Any blood in your urine? Vomiting that looks like coffee grounds?" He helps Mac to sit up again, taps against Mac’s back, over his kidneys, watching for any signs of pain.

Mac shakes his head, frowning.

"We're going to work you up for any source of internal bleeding," McClain says. He turns to Reese. "Complete blood count, complete metabolic panel, urine sample, stool guaiac. Keep him nothing by mouth for now. Two units of packed red blood cells. Abdominal and renal ultrasounds. I'll see about getting a GI consult."

Jack looks worriedly between the conversing medical personnel and Mac laying on the bed, far too pale and too subdued for his liking.

Reese starts two intravenous lines, one for blood and one for fluid, cycling his blood pressure and taking his temperature frequently to monitor for a transfusion reaction. 

“Thought we already decided on a Wizard of Oz theme for our costumes, Toto,” Jack says, watching as dark red blood fills the drip chamber of the IV tubing, running steadily into Mac’s arm. “You don’t have to go with this morally ambiguous vampire who takes his blood intravenously.”

Mac grunts, reclining against the raised bed, dark circles under his eyes.

“I know Hayes didn’t get a hit in. I know she didn’t touch you,” Jack states, but he’s still looking for confirmation. For some type of answer for Mac’s dramatic downward spiral.

“Maybe from the explosion?” Bozer suggests.

“Didn’t get hit by anything,” Mac murmurs.

“Shockwaves,” Jack suggests. “Maybe they bounced off you hard enough to mess up your insides.”

“Explosion wasn’t that big,” Mac argues, fatigue laces his voice. The blood pressure cuff cycles. Mac dozes between vital signs checks, and Jack paces, watching and waiting.

It takes a few replacement units of blood before Mac's color returns and his mind clears. Serial lab draws confirm that his hemoglobin and hematocrit remain stable throughout the rest of the afternoon. 

“I'm still thinking vampires,” Jack says, settling into the recliner now that Mac is fully awake, and his cheeks taking on a healthier glow than the ghostly complexion he sported that morning. 

“No bite marks,” Mac argues, feeling flustered at the excitement he caused this morning, and by the attention focused on him. “Well, no new bites.” His fingers glide over the intact, preexisting scab and bruising on his neck.

“Don’t touch that,” Jack scolds. “You’ve lost enough blood for one day.” 

“And, you know the fact that they don’t exist, no matter how much you insist that they’re real,” Mac continues, ignoring Jack’s warning. 

"Oh yeah, Mr. Santa-can't-be-disproven knows for a fact that vampires don't exist."

Jack stays with him. A blessing, a relief from the unending boredom between lab draws and tests, the wait would feel endless without Jack’s rambling and their heatless arguments. But Mac can’t help but feel at times, it’s also a curse, Jack’s watchful eyes, full of concern and don’t miss anything. His theories range from medically founded, that maybe Mac’s developed an ulcer to outlandish that sneaky phlebotomists are stalking him. 

“I’d know if someone drew my blood,” Mac grumbles as he’s looked over again, searching for puncture marks that can’t be attributed to his stay in medical. “That’s kind of hard to miss.” 

When Jack’s scolding, McClain’s science, and Matty’s orders aren’t enough to keep him compliant, they send in Riley and Bozer, and with a reluctant sigh, Mac stays the night for additional tests. 

It's a very grumpy Mac that is discharged from Phoenix Med late the following evening. Thoroughly poked, prodded, examined and scoped and no closer to the answers of what happened than they were when he arrived, to everyone’s vexation. 

Mac begs, cajoles, argues and reasons for a discharge and is reluctantly granted his release with a laundry list of signs and symptoms to watch for, a nervous Jack Dalton as taxi service and caregiver and orders to return in the morning for a lab draw. Sooner if he notices any signs of bleeding, shortness of breath, or pain.

"The crazies always come out around Halloween," Jack says, subtly clearing the house, still feeling on edge for reasons he can't quite explain. He can't shake the feeling of being watched.

"It's LA, nobody needs Halloween as an excuse to be weird," Mac says tiredly.

"You sure you're okay to be at home already?"

"They discharged me."

"Yeah, cause you were being annoying, dude."

"I'm fine. A little tired. A little cold.” Mac admits, and continues quickly to forestall Jack’s worries. “I'm planning on going straight to bed."

"Could have slept at the Phoenix,” Jack grumbles. 

"Not as well as I will in my own bed with no one watching me sleep," Mac says. "And you'll sleep better in your own bed too."

"Couch is fine."

"Jack," Mac's tone is warning. "Please. Go home and get some sleep. You're still recovering from a gunshot wound, and I'm fine. I'll call you if I need you for anything."

"I'll just wait for Bozer to get home."

Mac shakes his head, as he walks into the kitchen, pulling a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and pours himself a glass.

"Go home," Mac repeats. "Get some sleep in a chair that won't leave your neck kinked."

Jack is about to protest.

"You sat with me for two days. I won't be able to sleep if I know you're out here worrying about me, because I'll be worrying about you."

"Alright, alright," Jack surrenders. He jabs a finger in Mac's direction. "But you call me if anything happens, got it, hoss?"

"Promise," Mac says with a smile. "Now go."

"And lock the door behind me," Jack says and Mac follows him to the entryway. "After Murdoc and everything this last month, our luck is running short."

"Goodnight, Jack," Mac says, as he shuts the door firmly, snapping the lock in place. He yawns, glancing at his watch. It's early, but he's going to do exactly what he told Jack, and head for bed. Right after a shower to wash the antiseptic smell of medical off of him.

Heading to his en suite, he grabs a towel and sips on his juice as he waits for the water to warm up. It soothes muscles that are stiff from the uncomfortable hospital bed. His thoughts wander as he enjoys the warm water pulsing against his back.

He snorts, jerking awake, realizing he was starting to doze. He turns off the water and towels dry, pulling on a pair of pajama pants before tumbling into bed and pulling the covers up around him.

* * *

Mac shifts, still half asleep. His blankets so heavy he can barely move enough to take the pressure off of his aching back and shoulders. The relaxed relief from his shower gone. He's uncomfortable. He tries to lift his arm, fling aside the stifling blankets, but it's too heavy. Tight against his chest.

Again.

He remembers, sort of, in a muddled clarity in the back of his mind. This happened before.

He frowns.

This happened two nights ago.

He pries open heavy eyelids, barely to half-mast. Through long lashes, he surveys the room, to understand why he feels so warm, why he can't move his arms. He lifts his head, staring down his body. The pressure against his arms isn't from too many layers laid over him, but straps binding his arms to his chest. His legs trapped the same way. He flexes against the tight bands, which bite into his flesh without mercy.

His head falls back with a clunk.

It's dark. Hazy.

Foggy. Not fog, tendrils of smoke. Dim lights flicker behind his head. The spicy smell of incense permeates the room. And underneath that something else. Something metallic.

Blood.

He knows these findings should cause him distress. He should fight against the bonds holding him down. He should feel fear at waking in a strange location but the most he can manage is mild curiosity. His head aches. His thoughts murky.

"Hello," he croaks. His throat dry and his tongue feels thick.

He struggles weakly against the straps again, only succeeding in sending a wave of pain through his arms.

He hears a door creak open and a rush of cool air enters the warm room. He lifts his head looking towards the door, a figure in dark robes approaches him. He strains to make out the features from across the room. He recognizes the voice when she speaks.

"Hello, Mac." His bad date from a few nights before.

She smiles at him and dread races down his spine.

"You were in my bedroom," he says, confusion laces his voice, trying to remember, to piece together the bad dream that wasn't. "What's going on?"

"I wanted to give you an explanation that night, but you were so upset that I didn't get the chance."

"So you kidnapped me?"

"No! It's not like that at all. We couldn't let you go, not when you are who we've been looking for."

"Sure feels like I've been kidnapped," Mac says, testing the straps binding him again.

"Mac, you are so special. You're going to thank me for this."

"What are you talking about."

"It's all coming together. Tonight is a full moon, and you are who we've been waiting for." Her hand traces his face. He tries to squirm away but his muscles are too weak and the straps too tight.

"Your blood, Mac. I wasn't sure until I tasted it. And then I couldn't resist coming back for more."

Mac suddenly feels cold. She isn't just weird. She's insane. He flexes his muscles, desperate to make them move. It's a futile action.

"It won't be much longer now. We're nearly assembled."

* * *

Mac struggles and fights against the restraints, but can do little more than turn his head, or wriggle his hips.

Left alone in the candlelight to worry about his fate.

He yells for help, but his cries go unanswered. He has no idea where he is, but there's a damp, musty smell of decaying leaves that makes him think he's in a cabin in the woods, in the middle of nowhere, no neighbors for miles, no one to hear his screams.

He wonders if they'll ever find his body.

Or if he'll end up a ghost story.

Jack will never forgive himself. Will never forgive Mac for making him go home. He wonders how long before anyone notices he's missing.

Will Bozer peek in on him when he gets home, or grant Mac privacy, seeing the door shut and knowing he needs rest.

The solid door creaks open again and Mac struggles harder.

Six figures in identical robes, hoods covering their heads, obscuring their features.

One steps forward, standing next to him. A slender hand brushes his face, and slides down his neck. He shivers.

She picks at the scab on his neck with a long fingernail.

He feels the clot give way with a stinging sensation and a warm trickle slides down his neck. She licks her lips hungrily, then lowers her mouth to his neck. Sucking painfully. Mac feels a swell of nausea at the sensation. His heart racing in his ears.

She raises her head. Her face inches from his, a small line of blood at the corner of her mouth. With one finger she catches the drip and delicately licks his from her finger. Her teeth are red when she smiles at him.

She lowers her head again. Blood rushing faster from the wound on his neck. Running faster than it can be lapped up, and wet and sticky as it drips off the back of his neck. He can hear it spatter on the cold stone table.

Mac can barely hear over the sound of his ragged breathing. He tries to slow it, tries to calm his racing heart. Traitorously beating faster and sending blood racing to the wound to be stolen away from him.

His vision grows dim, and the room spins.

"No," he whispers. "Jack, help."

The first robed figure finally steps away and another takes her place.

She stands over him, blood dripping down her chin. It splashes against his bare chest.

His vision blurs and head swims. There's a rushing sound in his ears.

This is it. They're going to bleed him dry.

He's going to die.

Another drop of blood drips from her chin, he watches, as if in a trance, can't take his eyes from the drop that spatters on his chest. From the crimson coated teeth. From eyes that glow in the candlelight in the shadows of their hoods.

He feels himself fading, vision tunneling.

There's a sudden flash of light.

A bang and a blur of movement.

He can't focus.

Can't concentrate.

So cold.

There's a tearing feeling at his neck and the painful mouth is pulled off of him with a squelch and a pop.

"-ac!" Everything sounds so far away. Distant. Like he's drifting away, leaving behind this mortal coil.

"Mac!"

A voice cuts through the fog. Jack's face over his.

Mac's eyelids flutter, he wants to call for Jack. Reach out for him, but he can't find the strength.

Jack freezes.

He wants to beg Jack to help him. Please. Help him.

Jack's hands suspended over Mac. Flittering. Searching. His eyes widen in horror. Then his hand scrapes through the blood into the wound and pushes.

Hard.

Mac screams.

It hurts. It's cutting off his airway. Jack rescued him, only to suffocate him.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Jack whispers as screams faded to whimpers. "Get the medics in here now!" He shouts, not turning, his eyes not leaving Mac's face.

"J-J-Jack," Mac's voice hoarse, weak. His eyes are so heavy. It is hard to breathe, to get enough air, as if his lungs can't keep up with the demands of his racing heart.

"Don't you do this," Jack's voice trembles.

"Can't..." he rasps.

"Mac, you listen to me, help is coming." Jack doesn't take his eyes off Mac's face. "Where's that medic?" He shouts. His voice squeaks with panic.

Mac's eyes slide shut.

"You open those eyes right now, Angus!" Jack commands.

Mac's eyes fly open, locking on Jack's face.

"Sorry," he wheezes. "Sorry."

Just before his eyes slide shut again, he hears Jack screaming his name.

* * *

Blood wells up between Jack's fingers. He pushes harder against the bite. Mac's eyes close and Jack feels his world enter a tail-spin. Panic rushes through his veins.

"Mac!" He yells.

Mac's eyelids flutter at his name but don't open.

"Angus!" He tries again, hoping to startle the kid awake with the use of his full name.

Nothing.

"Don't do this, hoss. Don't do this," Jack murmurs. "You haven't survived this long to be eaten by a cult. Not on my watch."

Mac's face is pale. Beyond pale. His skin is translucent.

"Don't move your fingers," the medic instructs. "Keep hold of that. We're going to move him on three."

"Not a creepy vampire cult. Maybe by a tribe of Ewoks." Jack feels impending hysteria. Wants Mac to wake him and argue for the hundredth time about Ewoks and Endor and whether or not Luke and company were destined to be sacrifices. He has a passing thought that Mac would know, he almost was one. Or was he a meal.

They scoop him from the sacrificial stone table. Runes carved into the surface. Flecks of blood in the crevices of the rock that catch the blood draining from their victims.

"Please don't do this to me, hoss."

Jack feels each thump of Mac's heart pulse beneath his fingertips. His own racing pulse bounding, a distinct contrast to the slow fluttering of Mac's. His vision tunneling, only dark and gray. The pallor of Mac's skin, and the splash of red.

The gurney scuttles against the rough stone floor as the medics wrap and run. Out of the cavernous room, through the maze of shadows and dancing candlelight. Up the stairs, Jack is practically laying on the gurney himself in an effort to keep steady pressure on the wound.

The moon is full. Illuminating the path to the ambulance. Mac is translucent in the moonlight.

Dark empty branches reach out for Jack like knobby, bony hands scraping against his skin, tearing at his TAC vest. Stretching, trying to push past him and grab for Mac. Trying to keep him here. The darkness asserting its claim.

Just before the doors to the ambulance bang shut he can see Bozer and Riley's worried faces. There's nothing he can do for them right now. No reassurances he can offer. Any that he has, he needs for himself. Through a rushing sound in his ears, he dimly hears the medics taking Mac's blood pressure. The whir of a siren echoing. But nothing else matters except Jack's hands against the wound. He adjusts his hands and pushes harder. Mac's eyes flicker under closed lids, but he doesn't wake.

The isolated cabin in the woods is miles away from the Phoenix, and Mac doesn't have that kind of time to waste. They pull into the emergency bay of the closest hospital. A trauma team on alert that they're coming in hot with the victim of near exsanguination.

Jack runs alongside the gurney, his eyes don't leave Mac as they enter an exam room. He tries to make himself unobtrusive, like he belongs in here, because he does. He can't leave. But it doesn't last. A nurse taps his shoulder. 

"I'm going to trade spots with you on three," she instructs, hands gloved and gauze at the ready. "One-two-three." And Jack is forced to let go, step back. He's slowly pushed from his spot, as the medical team descends on Mac. Only glimpses of blond hair as the doctor works furiously to close the wound on Mac's neck, yelling for gauze and hemostats.

Nurses forgoing IV pumps, not trusting them to be fast enough, even running wide opened, compressing bags of blood between their hands, squeezing life back into Mac's body, as Jack is squeezed out of the room and into the hallway. 

"Jack!"

He pulls his eyes from the door as Riley and Bozer run down the hallway. Riley catches his arm as he sags against the wall. 

“He’s still alive,” Jack whispers. “They’re uh, he needs blood…” his voice trails off as he looks down at his hands, fingers tacky and sticking together. He wants to reach out, hold them, feel Riley and Bozer warm and alive under his hands because Mac felt too cold. Warm blood rapidly cooling in the night air. But he can't hold them, he doesn't want to see them covered in Mac's blood.

Someone gives him a set of scrubs to change into. Bozer follows him into the bathroom, starring as Jack scrubs at his hands, staining the skin red. Blood stubbornly clinging to his cuticles.

Jack's second favorite Metallica shirt is tossed into a garbage can, streaked and stained with Mac's blood. Too much blood on Jack's hands and shirt. Not enough blood in Mac's body.

It feels like it's hours before Mac is moved from the emergency department to a room upstairs. They trail behind the gurney, trying not to feel like mourners in a funeral procession. Directed to a waiting room while the nurses settle Mac into a bed.

When they're finally allowed in, Jack parks himself at Mac's side. Blood drips into an IV line. Nasal cannula stretched under his nose. The whirring motor of a bair hugger blanket regulating Mac's temperature because he's so anemic that he's having trouble doing that himself.

Jack wraps his hand around Mac's wrist, fingers resting against his pulse, counting each beat beneath his fingers. He can't shake the feeling that if he stops, if he misses a single one, he'll lose Mac. His eyes on the tiny, tiny stitches marching in line above Mac's collarbone, holding the blood inside where it belongs. Keeping it from coating Jack's hands again.

Moonlight shines through the window. Dark clouds pass, casting shadows across the room. With a gasp, Mac startles awake, pulling his hand from Jack's grasp. Pupils dilated in the darkness, blue eyes wide with fear. One hand pulling at the collar of his hospital gown, choking, erratic breaths as he fights against the phantoms. Jack grabs for Mac's hand, desperately pulling it away from the wound. Mac struggles harder.

Jack catches Mac's face between his hands. Mac's eyes meet his. 

Mac's struggles slow, and his breathing matches Jack's.

"You're safe," Jack promises. "We found you. You're safe."

* * *

"You're not even going to need Bozer's stage make-up to play the ghostly pale vampire wizard," Jack says, helping Mac from the car and into the house for the second time in too short of a time-frame.  
  
Mac rolls his eyes with a smile, shrugging deeper into Jack's oversized sweatshirt.  
  
"You sure you're up for the whole haunted house thing tonight?" Jack asks. His hand against Mac's back guiding him through the doorway. "Cause we can skip it entirely. Or you can sit it out this year. Help Penny and Jill hand out the candy in the garage."  
  
"Bozer and Cage said they would add a seat inside the coffin. I'll only come out for the grand finale of the tour, and rest between visitors." Mac says, stopping in front of the upright casket in the entryway and pulls the door open. He steps inside, leaning against the back with a smirk, crossing his arms and closing his eyes.  
  
Jack's heart skips a beat.  
  
Mac is too pale.  
  
Too still.  
  
Too close to being closed inside a box and buried forever.  
  
"Perfect fit," Mac says with a smile.  
  
The macabre smile of a corpse.  
  
"Come on, get out of there," Jack says, tugging his arm and herding him toward the living room. It was too close this time. Mac's body stilling under his bloody hands. Pulse fading.  
  
Cold.  
  
Pale.  
  
He was too late.  
  
Dead.  
  
"Jack?" Mac sits on the couch, looking up at Jack in puzzlement.  
  
No. No. Mac's alive. It was close. So close. But they fought back and held off the reaper for another day.  
  
Jack clears his throat. "I'm... uh... I'm," his voice cracks.  
  
Mac catches Jack's hand, tugging gently so that he sits on the couch next to him. His face worried, soft, as he watches Jack try to regain control of his emotions. Jack's hand wraps about Mac's wrist again, assuring himself that Mac's heart still beats.  
  
"Are you up for this?" Mac asks.  
  
"Yeah, of course," Jack waves him off.  
  
"Because we can call it off this year."  
  
"The Bozer-MacGyver haunted houses are legendary. Don't want to disappoint the neighborhood."  
  
Mac smiles.  
  
"Can't let Cage think that she's the Halloween Queen or anything, gotta prove that no one does a haunted house like we do," Jack nudges Mac's shoulder.  
  
Hurried footsteps grow closer and a moment later Bozer enters the living room. "Good, you're home! You okay, Mac?"  
  
"I'm fine, Bozer," Mac says, knowing he's in for answering that question a few dozen times from his team this evening. More, because McClain and Reese both promised to stop by, and Jack will probably coerce one of them into looking him over, just to be sure.  
  
"Good! Riley and Cage are getting dressed. Your turn for make-up," Bozer says. He's got the energy of a first time director on opening night of a Broadway show, bouncing around the room, checking on pulleys and levers and adding extra spiderwebbing to the doorway, as he herds Mac down the hallway. "And don't go far, Jack. You're next."  
  
Jack smiles settling on the overstuffed chair in the corner to wait, picking up the guitar next to it and peeling off cobwebs before strumming a few easy chords.  
  
_"I see a bad moon rising..."_


End file.
